Courtesy of Stella König
I wake up around noon. The sun shines through my big windows, and I hear voices in the hallway. I drag myself out of bed, grab my shower caddy, and briefly hesitate at the door. The people in the hallway sound like adults. As the last bit of sleepiness slips away, I remember why I decided to ignore my morning alarms in the first place: it’s Fall Weekend. Or Parents Weekend, more like. With a sigh, I brace myself as I open the door and slip out of my room.
As expected, the hallway is crowded with a large family, likely visiting a fellow Knowlton resident and inspecting their dorm room. Some turn to look at me when my lock clicks behind me. I wonder what they see. Perhaps they think I’m just another student getting ready to go out with her parents. Perhaps they assume my parents aren’t coming because why else would I be leaving my room after noon, puffy-eyed and in my pajamas? Or maybe they don’t think anything, too engrossed in the joy of their family reunion. I try not to linger on it.
I walk past them and enter the bathroom. While brushing my teeth, a man and a woman from the hallway group come in to wash their hands. I can feel them glancing at me. Or am I imagining it? Is it strange to be getting ready this late on Fall Weekend? I’m sure there must be other later risers, students who tell their parents, “I’ll just meet you guys for lunch!” instead of waking up early. The thought comforts me, but the nagging feeling of being out of place persists. I shake my head, trying to think of something else–or maybe nothing at all– as the man and woman dry their hands and leave. The noise in the hallway grows quiet, and I am alone again.
I feel small. This being my fourth Parents Weekend, you’d think it gets easier. But it never does. There are moments in which I feel absolutely fine, really. But it only takes something minor to hit me in a sore spot. I think back to my first Fall Weekend concert as a new member of my a cappella group. Parents were enthusiastically screaming as their kids were introduced. “That’s my daughter!” one yelled out. The following day, sitting at a table for a club at HarvestFest, forced to watch crowds of happy families rush by me, I tried to numb the conflicting feelings that tightened my chest. In those moments, joy and envy mixed in a way I didn’t know how to untangle.
While it warms my heart to see the happiness of my friends, I can’t help but feel sad and sometimes jealous. The presence of their families amplifies the absence of mine, making it all the more apparent. I am not one to feel homesick often, but every year, without fail, Fall Weekend manages to induce a longing, an intense craving, to be held by my mom, to bury my face in my dog’s fur, to speak my native language again. It manages to stretch the distance between here and home further than it usually does.
As I return to my room, I get a text from a friend, also international: “Let me know if you want to be orphans together today.” I smile. While it may seem dramatic to make this comparison, this is the reality of what Fall Weekend feels like for international students and many others who have to navigate college without family close by. Orphans for a day, the Oliver Twists of Connecticut College. You’d think it gets easier. It never does. On days like this, I find solace in my international community, the people who carry the same unspoken understanding. Our parents have never stepped foot on campus. They have never seen our dorm rooms, met our friends, or gotten coffee with us at our favorite coffee shop. But somehow, in the quiet recognition of our shared experiences, there’s comfort. We don’t need words to express how it feels; we just know. I may not have my family with me today, but I’m not truly alone either.
I feel you :)) Thank you for writing this :))